


Marking

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Porn, Rough Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's never seen Peter more desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeethyme4me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/gifts).



Neal’s never seen Peter more desperate. Standing over him in June's huge bathtub, the porcelain cold and bruise-hard under his knees. Peter’d told him to keep his hands on his knees and his mouth to himself and, God, it's maybe one of the hardest orders Peter's ever given him. Because Peter's bracing himself against the wall, curled in a protective arch over Neal's body, and jerking his cock for all its worth. His harsh pants echo against the tile. Drops of precum splatter on Neal's face, his shoulders, his dick - already purple and painful, and they haven’t even gotten started yet.

"I was going to come first," Peter says, standing back up and bracing his legs and, oh, fuck, holding his dick and standing in front of Neal like he's a urinal. "But I have to piss so bad."

"C - can I help?" Neal asks, and he raises a tentative hand. He's shaking. He can't help it - he's been wanting this for weeks, after the time when Peter came on his face and said _god, wanna mark you all over, come on you and piss on you and, oh_ – Neal had almost come again just from that, his cock jerking helplessly, imagining what Peter wanted to do to him.

Weeks and weeks of fantasizing about it and then Peter’s giving him permission to touch. He presses his hand into Peter's stomach, right above his cock. Right over his bladder. And he rolls his palm and Peter curses, and his cock is dripping precum so steadily it's almost like he's coming, almost like he's pissing, and Neal takes one last lick of it before it's too late (he doesn't want the acrid taste of urine in his mouth but this, salty and familiar on his tongue, this he _wants_).

Peter slaps his face and he falls to the side, his tongue caught between his teeth. "I told you not to touch,” and he's grabbing Neal's hair and pulling him back until his body's stretched backwards painfully, just - waiting.

Peter holds him there for another minute. Another minute of Peter stroking his cock gently, pointing it down towards Neal's chest, his lips moving silently, his thighs twitching with the urge to piss or come or turn Neal around and fuck him until he can't breathe and Neal can't even tell what he wants Peter to do more - and then -

And then Peter's pissing on him. A hot stream of urine splashes on his collarbone, pours down his chest, he was so cold but now - oh, fuck. Peter's pissing on his nipples. He doesn’t know how he keeps from coming.

It's the smell that hits him next. He's breathing through his nose and the sharp dark scent of it fills his nostrils and he has one fleeting moment to inhale and let it overwhelm him and then - _fuck_.

Then Peter's pointing his dick downwards. Pointing his dick down so that the full force of the stream hits the head of Neal's cock, right on the slit. It's like nothing he's ever felt before. Filthy and hot and too much and Peter's just cursing, a steady stream of _fuck_ and _yes _and _you're mine, you slut, Neal._  
  
"Your nipples," Peter says, "pinch them - "

And they're wet, too, wet and already hard and Peter just groans as Neal obeys. Pinches them between his fingers, rolls them, rubs his palm over them and then runs his hand down his chest, drawing a wet streak across his abs, and he hesitates before he grabs his cock.

"Please," he whispers. He wants to shoot before Peter stops pissing on him. Wants his cum to mix with Peter's urine and even with the ridiculous amount of water Peter's drunk that morning, he knows Peter won't be able to last too much longer.

"Come for me," Peter orders. And Neal wraps his hand around his cock and it's slick with his precum and Peter's piss, already jumping under his hand, he's so close - "Now," He comes. And as he shoots Peter pulls him up off the ground. Yanks him off the porcelain and shoves him chest first against the wall.

The last of Peter's piss lands on his ankle. On his tracker. And Neal’s body convulses and if Peter's arm wasn't still wrapped around him, he would have fallen. Slipped on the wet surface, his dick still helplessly spasming. His balls tighten but there’s nothing left. Peter's pissing on his ankle and Neal's in the middle of his first dry orgasm and it hurts, his whole body's confused and overwhelmed and his brain's mixing up all sorts of signals -

The horrible, ugly, hated device on his ankle is soaked. And the slit of his cock is still opening and closing helplessly with every breath that he takes and he yells, he can't help it, it _hurts_, and his voice echoes in the bathroom until Peter slams him against the wall and tells him to shut up.

Peter's still hard, he realizes, when he shudders back into his body. Neal's a wet, wasted mess and Peter's pressing his cock against Neal's sloppy hole. He shoves in with one thrust and Neal keens, because no matter how open Peter'd fucked him that morning, the sudden sensation of Peter's thick cock splitting him open is never comfortable.

"Gonna piss inside you next time," Peter whispers into Neal's ear. Neal can barely hear him over the painful sound of his own breath being knocked out of him with each thrust. "Hold you down and fill you up. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Peter pushes him forward, shuffling across the tub, fucking into Neal with each step. Then he lifts Neal's hands and wraps them around the shower head. "Hold on, baby," he says. Then Peter grabs Neal's hips and starts fucking him as hard as he can.

Neal's on fire. His muscles are screaming and his skin itches with mixed signals, Peter's breath on his neck and the cool air against his wet skin, Peter's urine drying on his body, on his collarbone nipples stomach cock and ankle. And next time Peter's going to piss inside of him.

He bites back a sob and it's not because of a set of particularly brutal thrusts, no matter how expertly Peter targets his prostate. And it's not because Peter's pushed him forward so that his over-sensitive cock is pressed against the cold wall. It's all of that and more.

It's Peter's teeth on his neck and his hands on Neal's hips and his cock in his body, his voice claiming Neal, _mine, my slut, my boy, Neal,_ his semen spreading inside of Neal's body, a precious gift. It's Peter's piss on his tracker. Peter laying claim.

"I own you," he hears, and he's not sure whether Peter actually says it or if it's just in his head because real life isn't supposed to be this perfect_, his_ life isn't supposed to be this perfect, it hasn't been for years. He takes one hand off the showerhead to grad Peter's ass and hold him close. He can feel the last jerks of Peter's cock spurting inside him, his teeth digging into the meat of his shoulder.

Peter rocks against him lazily as he softens, licking at his teethmarks. "Are you okay?"

Neal tries to say yes but the words stick in his throat. Peter eases him down slowly and he curls on the floor, his body failing to support him, betraying him with every shudder. Peter turns on the water and settles himself against the back of the tub. Then he pulls Neal close so that his back is resting against Peter's chest, Peter’s legs surrounding him.

Peter starts off with a shower. He takes the soft washcloth and rubs it carefully down Neal's body. Long, steady strokes over every part of him. They both have to twist awkwardly so that Peter can reach the anklet, but Peter still takes his time. Cleaning every edge of it. Underneath the band. Gentle on the strip of skin’s that always rubbed a bit raw from the constant friction.

When Neal's clean Peter doesn't turn off the water. Instead, he lets the tub fill up and just kisses Neal's neck like that’s all he wants to do. He holds Neal around the waist so that he won't float away, and just licks at his shoulders, nibbles his neck, spreads long lazy kisses along his sensitive skin until Neal's hard again, and shivering.

"You were beautiful," Peter tells him. "You did so good."

Neal turns his head a bit to the side and Peter kisses him. And it's simple, it's normal, it's something they've done hundreds of times. And yet - something's changed. For him, if not for Peter. Some new awareness and relaxation. He's Peter's boy. His slut. His partner.


End file.
